


Beauchamp Riots

by KalendraAshtar



Category: Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: F/M, Modern AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-15
Updated: 2017-01-20
Packaged: 2018-09-17 16:38:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9333686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KalendraAshtar/pseuds/KalendraAshtar
Summary: Jamie and Claire have been best friends for five years. When Jamie announces his impending marriage, Claire is forced to finally confront her true feelings.





	1. Pretzel Logic

**Part I – Pretzel Logic**

I met Jamie five years ago.

That’s one thousand eight hundred and twenty six days, give or take. More than forty thousand hours of mutual knowledge.

One would think it would have been enough for me to realize it sooner, before I was plunged into this shattering mess – but I didn’t. Perhaps I was lying, even to myself. Maybe, I was just too scared of ruining that precious and delicate thing, which I kept close to my heart – so close as to be inside it.

I was sitting at my local pub, a glass of strong whiskey placed in front of me, a lively reminder that I was supposed to be drinking and forgetting. I could barely see a damned thing – warm tears kept flooding my eyes, uninvited. I could hear masculine voices at distance, somewhere in the periphery of the constricted world I had built for myself, laughing and teasing about a disputed dart game. I raised the glass and took a long sip, darkly thinking about shooting darts at a figure that looked very much like my fiancé – no, not _anymore_! – Frank Randall.

But darts were just too good for him, the womanizer and conniving sod, for making me act like a heartbroken little woman. I almost smiled then, enthralled with the sudden vision of him, plunged in honey and chased by a hive, with his balls dangling in immediate and grave peril. I was still satisfyingly immersed in my _vendetta_ when he came to sit next to me.

What I discovered afterwards is that Jamie Fraser is a gentleman. He could have been born in a castle in the eighteenth century and go about prancing his sword, ruling with an equal measure of grace and effortlessness. And like any other knight – well, I guess by then knights weren’t a thing anymore, but I digress – he couldn’t tolerate a damsel in distress. Not even one with wild hair, grubby scrubs and the breath of an ancient dragon.

“Is something amiss, lass?” He asked in a deep voice, soft and comforting as velvet, so much so I immediately craved to curl up inside it. He hesitated, his long fingers playing with the rim of his glass. Whiskey – neat, of course – filled the glass almost to the brim. “I’m sorry to meddle, but I’ve been watching ye and was that wee bit worried ye would drown inside that drink.”

“If I do,” I replied, ruefully. “Do not resuscitate me.”

He raised his eyebrows and moved to sit closer to me on the booth. I noticed then how his hair seemed like a perfect blend of auburn, roan, cinnabar and copper; how his eyes were a dark blue, slightly slanted, framed by long lashes – dark at the tips, but a pale blonde at the roots – in a degrade that seemed unfairly glamorous for such a small piece of hair.

“Ye dinna strike me as the quitting type.” He said in a conspiratorial tone, smiling. “More like the type that goes down swinging. Am I wrong?”

“You’re not – usually.” A hiccup escaped my lips – I was a little sloshed after a couple of hours of lonely drinking at my pity party. “But it turns out that being cheated on really reveals the worst in you.”

He brushed his jaw with his fingers in a thoughtful manner.

“Even the worst in ye doesn’t seem that terrible to me, lass.” He said at last and raised his glass before he drank down. I watched in fascination his Adam’s apple bobbing, feeling thirsty for more than beverage. When his eyes met mine, I blushed and almost overturned my drink with my elbow, feeling wildly inappropriate – five minutes of being single and I was already lusting over some Scottish stranger?

“Please, don’t waste your night babysitting me.” I pleaded, patting my hair – by then my curls looked like the hybrid offspring of a lunatic sheep and a cupcake on steroids. “I’ll be perfectly fine, really. Just need to sleep – probably a couple of years will be enough.”

“There’s no place I’d rather be.” He said softly and waved to his mates, grabbing jackets and tossing rumpled pound bills to the table, signalling that he was staying. “So, let’s hear it.” - And then noticing my surprised look. - “Ye need to get it out of yer chest. Just tell me how terrible he was, inconsiderate and flawed, and then ye can begin to heal.”

We talked for hours that first night together. When the pub closed we moved our conversation to the square and, before we parted, we had breakfast by the river- ate buttery scrambled eggs and crispy bacon that tasted like ambrosia. I poured my heart out and Jamie was there to catch every beating fragment.

For some time I thought we would transition into something more. I was acutely aware of him - the way he moved his shoulders when he was a bit uncomfortable; the salty smell of his skin when I met him at the gym; the capacity he had for hiding his thoughts behind a mask – how he chose not to wear it with me. When his eyes met mine I tended to loose simple skills.

Sometimes I would catch him looking intently at me, fire behind his eyes. Sitting beside him on my couch devouring chocolate ice-cream, I knew I could have his mouth tasting the sweetness hidden on my lips, if only I dared to say a word. When we went to dinner together, occasionally I would wear a flirty dress, wishing to see his mischievous half-smile, to feel his hand on the small of my back, lingering there as a promise.

But I was broken and Jamie knew it since that first night. Eventually the moment passed and we grew more accustomed to each other – we reached an unspoken agreement that what we had was so precious, that neither of us wanted to ruin it by trying to explore the romantic possibilities. We were each other’s bastion – the bestest of friends.

Ultimately he started dating _her._ I tolerated her mildly – tried my best to act with grace, like a solid and long-time wife that looks with bored amusement to the youngster plotting to take her place. I knew of every argument, tiff and complain – how exasperated Jamie frequently was, when faced with her tantrums and wilful side. Clearly, not an auspicious future.

We were at the pub, as per usual on Fridays, sitting on our booth, when he told me. When everything changed.

“I have something to tell ye, Sassenach.” He hawked. “Ye ken that Geneva and I have been seeing each other for some months…”

“Not likely I would forget.” I rolled my eyes, munching some pretzels. “What is it, then? Is it over? Because let me tell you that…”

“I asked her to marry me.” He whispered in a hoarse voice, avoiding my glare. “And she accepted.”

 I thought I would die right there and then – if from a broken heart or choked by a pretzel, I couldn’t say. My airway became constricted, as if someone had stuck a thick branch through my nose, and I coughed violently. Jamie leaned over to rub my back in a soothing way and I almost fainted, the mixture of oxygen deprivation and shock combining to numb my brain.

“What do you mean?” I eventually gasped, cleaning the moisture from my eyes with a paper napkin.

“Well, ye ken how it is.” Jamie shrugged, looking calm and – _defiant_? “Seemed like the natural step going forward.”

“You can’t go two seconds without wanting to tear each other’s throats!” I said, irritated. “And now you want to put a ring on it?”

“She loves me, Claire.” He looked serious and decided. “And I want to be happy. I think I deserve that – don’t ye?”

My brain – still reeling from the almost _pretzel-induced-coma_ , managed to clasp itself like a clam into his words _“She loves me.”_ – not _“I love her”. DAMN YOU, JAMES FRASER._

“Did you really think about it?” I babbled, trying to gain time by taking multiple sips of water. “It’s a big commitment.”

“I did.” Jamie grabbed my hand, resting on the table, and entwined our fingers. I wanted to open his fingers and brush them on my face, to kiss the hot flesh of his thumb – to read the lines of destiny on the palm of his hand and tell him that they would always lead straight to me. “I really want yer support on this, _a nighean_. Will ye be my best woman?”

I almost screamed then, from pain and frustration. Was he being purposely hurtful and maleficent? Or was he just blind to the blow he was delivering me? Could he really not know?

“Of course.” I heard a small voice answer and it must have been mine, because he smiled and brushed a curl away from my face, tucking it behind my ear. “So are you thinking maybe two years from now? A long and happy engagement?” I gave my best to appear nonchalant, but hope dripped from my words, like poison from a wound.

“Actually,” He furrowed his eyebrows and – again – avoided my eyes. “Geneva was verra adamant that she doesna want to wait long. We’re setting the date for six weeks from now.”

I thought I was dying again, but this time there wasn’t a pretzel within sight – the snap could only be from my decaying heart.

“Six weeks!” I laughed nervously and it came out as a high-pitch sound from a banshee. “Better get started on my tux, then!”

“Thank ye, Sassenach.” Jamie kissed my cheek, his lips quivering against my heated flesh. “I couldna do it without ye. To have ye by my side is….everything I could ever wish for.”

I personally could think of a billion things a man about to be married should wish more than to have his best friend standing guard at the altar, from spending time with his bride to a scalding wedding-night – but found dark solace in the notion.

I twisted and turned in bed that night, sleepless. Tried every possible strategy – from visualizing peaceful beaches with golden sands, to counting livestock, to replaying inside my head my last repairment of an aortic aneurism. I stared at the ceiling, thinking that there was no greater injustice, than finding the love of your life while you are losing it.

Tears prickled my eyes and I allowed them to run freely. There, in the darkness of my bedroom, I finally accepted that I was in love with Jamie. I could be jealous of the woman that was robbing me my friend; I could be afraid of missing the huge place I had in his life – but I had to admit that I wanted so much more. Deep down I always assumed we were taking our time until we came together, inexorably, once we realized that forever was the only option for us.

But now the future, that once seemed inevitable, was slipping away. I had waited too long – enough for the wheels of destiny to begin to spin.

I had to take control back. I had to fight for Jamie.

I had a plan.


	2. Two Can Waltz

**Part II – Two Can Waltz**

The plan was simple, really – I needed to show Jamie how little Geneva knew him and in the process highlight how I, on the other hand, knew him better than anyone. It should be easy, as they only knew each other for a few months, which they had spent mostly arguing.

“Where are we going?” I asked Jamie for the tenth time, watching the blur of the streets fly by through the car window, as he drove us to an unknown destination. “If we’re going to a strip club, I must warn you that extends way over my best woman duties.” I said jokingly, knowing that Jamie Fraser would sooner eat tar, than to secretly place a foot on a bawdy house.

“Nay.” He laughed. “You’ll see in a moment. Thank you for doing this for me, Sassenach.”

“What wouldn’t I do for you, darling?” I bent my head in a playful manner, but the truth of my words resonated between us. “Has Jenny gone completely mad, once she found out she only has six weeks to plan the weeding of her dear younger brother?”

“Ach.” Jamie made one of his signature Scottish sounds. “We are not to be wed at Lallybroch. Geneva’s dream is to be married at her home, on the Lake District.”

_What about your dreams?_ I thought, sadness creeping through my anxiety and annoyance. _Does she know how you always dreamt of taking your wife across the threshold built by your ancestors? How you craved to love her on the home of your heart?_

“I’m sorry.” I said gently, my index finger slightly brushing his hand on the steering wheel. “I know how you wanted it to be there. To have your mother and father… _close_ on that special day.”

“It’s alright.” He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his blue eyes. “I’m sure they will be there on some capacity. I’ll still be wearing my Fraser colours.”

“How did you propose to her, anyway?” I asked, drawing a crooked heart on the hazy glass. I bit my bottom lip, fighting the urge to add a “ _J + C_ ” inside the heart – instead, I hurriedly cleaned it up with the palm of my hand, feeling the moistness of erased hopes on my skin. “You didn’t really tell me that part.”

He shrugged.

“We were eating take away – _Mario’s_ – and I had the ring inside my pocket. She was telling me how she’d like to go on a vacation to Jamaica and I…spilled it out.”

“So, you popped _the_ question over a pepperoni pizza?” I asked, incredulous. That notion disconcerted me beyond anything I’ve heard until that moment – and I had been pretty fazed at the thought of Geneva, uppity and stubborn as a hound, managing to conquer the right to marry the best man I ever knew. Jamie Fraser was a hopeless romantic – he had actually teared up watching “ _Nothing Hill”_ and “ _The Notebook”_. He probably had envisioned his own wedding more vividly than most girls I knew (including myself). And, suddenly, this man of grand gestures, always wearing his heart on his sleeve, had mad the ultimate question without a minimum of effort or ambiance? _Is your heart really into it?_ , I thought.

“It had olives.” He replied shortly. “We’re here.”

I peeked through the windscreen. Jamie had parked outside a small warehouse, painted in red and black, with a luminous sign twinkling – _“Fitz’s Ballroom Academy”._

“Do I even want to know?” I whispered in dismay.

“Usually the married couple opens the reception dancing a waltz.” Jamie said, clenching his jaw. “I’d rather not make a complete fool of myself.”

“Shouldn’t you be doing this with your bride?” I asked, darkly looking at my sneakers and the reprehension certainly awaiting me beyond those doors.

“Geneva already knows how to waltz.” Jamie smiled, raising his eyebrows. “Perks of attending reputable schools, ye ken. I wanted to surprise her on the day. Besides,” He grabbed my hand and linked our arms, as if we were about to enter a debutant ball. “Ye’re far more patient than her.”

_Oh, Jamie. Shouldn’t that tell you something?_ I protested mentally.

“Perhaps you need someone more… _disreputable_ , then.” I suggested, pinching his arm, my heartbeat racing.

We were greeted by a stout and plump middle-aged woman, who examined us with a trained eye and – of course – clicked her tongue in disappointment at the sight of my used sneakers.

“I’m Glenna FitzGibbons.” She introduced herself, guiding us to a room with dim lights, where couples were standing talking in low voices. “You may call me Mrs. Fitz. You told me ye wished to learn some waltz basics for your wedding, is that it Mr. Fraser?”

“Aye.” Jamie nodded. I saw by the corner of my eye as multiple women turned their heads to look at him, tall and handsome even in the shadows. It was a recurrent effect – I was used to be outshined by Jamie and took great pride in it. “This is Claire, she…”

“Ah!” Mrs. Fitz nodded in my direction. “Ye’re going to be verra happy, I can see that.” She smiled and the gesture robbed all the sternness from her features, making her look younger and tender. “A beautiful couple, very much in love.”

“I’m sorry, but I’m not the bride.” I murmured, my cheeks and neck flushed. “Just helping a friend.”

“Are ye sure?” She gave Jamie a narrow look, as if urging him to reconsider. “Well, if you say so…”

It wasn’t uncommon for people to mistake us for a couple – as a matter of fact, sometimes we wouldn’t even bother to try and explain our unusual connection. I remembered with a pang an occasion in which Jamie had actually put his arm around my waist and kissed my hair - _“I’m a very lucky man.”,_ he had said. That was before Geneva – before I had to stop pretending I was in possession of another place in his life, that wasn’t only that of a dear friend.

Music started to drain from the speakers, as all the pairs in the room took position – it was _“The Second Waltz”_ playing and we all might as well be wearing puffy dresses and gallant uniforms, drifting across the floor of a Czar’s palace, lit by hundreds of fragrant candles.

“Go on.” Mrs. Fitz instructed us, not-so-gently pushing me to Jamie’s arms. “Ye have to lead lad, dinna worry, she won’t bite unless ye want her to….”

Following her directions, Jamie placed his right hand on my waist, as I put my left hand on his right shoulder. Our free hands were soon clasped together and our bodies pressed in a tight embrace.

We swayed together, at first focused on trying not to massacre each other’s toes. But everything had always been easy with Jamie – to talk, to walk beside him, to sing along with his tuneless voice, to read aloud for him while he was half asleep, to find my will to smile inside his laugh – and dancing was no exception. There was an easiness in our shared space, in the way our bodies touched, that made me dizzy with the idea of making love to him. We became a little more daunting, venturing on doing some whisks and spins, and relaxed until we almost melted together.

I could feel the slight brush of his fingers on my waist, the way he rubbed my hand with his thumb while he guided us through the room. A waltz is not a tango – it wasn’t supposed to be that intense, that arousing. But dancing requires a shared intimacy only comparable to sex – hence is used so frequently as foreplay. I was burning, sweat dripping down the back of my neck – was it my imagination or Jamie’s grip was getting even firmer, his body acknowledging mine, seeking contact? His eyes were dark, his face fierce and his lips were slightly ajar, his breathing coming hot and fast.

The music stopped and I reluctantly increased the space between us, smiling as he bowed down to me in a whimsical curtsy.

“Jamie…” I licked my lips, about to ask him if he ever had felt like that before - If Geneva made his blood boil like an active volcano, about to produce something capable of changing the face of the Earth…

“Do ye think Geneva will be impressed?” He interrupted me.

“Yes.” I sighed, turning my back on him to hide my disappointment and the threat of tears on my lashes. “I think she will.”

****

“Hello, my love!” I greeted Adso, patiently sitting close to the door when I entered my apartment. “How was your day? Better than mine, I hope.” He meowed in response, coming to brush his back against my legs in a demonstration of both love and cleverness, knowing that I would shower him in tasty food afterwards.

I poured him dinner and stayed around, watching him lick the fancy cat mousse, remembering the day Jamie had appeared at my door, holding inside his folded coat a tiny grey ball with big imploring eyes.

_“A cat!” I said, inspecting him closely. “Thank you, but I’m not hungry.”_

_“Aren’t ye a funny one, Sassenach?” He smirked. “I ken ye like wee cheeties. I found this lad in a bush outside my house. I’ve been watching and his mother wasna around.”_

_“And you thought my maternal instincts would kick in?” I frowned. “He will ruin my rugs, curtains, books and eat all my herbs.”_

_“You woulna be a proper Ban-druidh without a cat.” He rubbed the cat’s neck and he immediately started to purr. “Besides I ken ye’d like the company.”_

_“Why don’t you keep it?” I tried one last time, but was already stretching my arms to grab my new roommate, a smile plastered on my face._

_“He needs a good home.” Jamie touched my cheek. “And I couldna think of one better than the one he could have with ye”._

“Jamie is a fool.” I whispered to Adso. “I’m forbidding you to lay on his lap the next this he comes around. We don’t like him so much now.”

My phone vibrated inside my jeans’ pocket and I took it out, my hand shaking when I read the identifier on the message – _“Geneva Dunsany”._

_“Hello! Going to do some dress shopping on Friday. Can you come? Would like your opinion, plus the chance to get to know you better. XO”_

I bit my lip, playing with the phone on my hands. Adso was now starting his daily bath routine, which always left me thoroughly fascinated and slightly disgusted.

I would rather spend a Friday lancing boils in the ER than hanging out with Geneva, particularly if it involved watching her try on wedding dresses to marry the man I loved. But it gave me an opportunity to enlighten her on the failures of her relationship with Jamie and sow some doubt. I unlocked the phone and quickly typed _“Count me in! See you then.”_

****

The rain was tapping on the window, like cold fingers demanding my attention, luring me in. The alarm clock marked 2 a.m., which meant that soon it would be useless to try to sleep anymore. My white phone was strategically placed on my nightstand, always available to warn me of any emergencies coming to the hospital. It buzzed with a light sound – I looked to the screen for a long time, until I almost forgot where and who I was, but eventually answered it.

“Is everything alright?” I said softly.

“No.” Jamie whispered back. “That nightmare again.” I knew well enough the dreams that haunted him – of the terrorist bombing on the subway that had left him almost dead, his back shredded beyond the ability to fully recover. “I usually don’t feel…anything. I don’t remember any pain – only afterwards, in the hospital. But this time…it hurt.”

“I’m here.” I watched as Adso got up from his usual place at my feet and stood watch, his eyes glowing in the dark, like beacons against my unseen demons. I could visualize Jamie, wearing his battered sleeping pants, curled on his huge bed like a little boy, his hair moist and tousled. Afraid and alone. “It’s gone, Jamie. It can’t hurt you anymore. The pain ended then – and it will again.”

“I’m sorry.” He seemed embarrassed. “For calling ye so late. I dinna even noticed the time – I just needed to talk to you. To hear the voice of another living soul and know that I survived it. Ye can always make the pain go away, _mo nighean donn_.”

I almost sobbed against the phone, the pain created by his words too great; daggers piercing through skin, muscle and tendon, until they reached the core of what made me his. He demanded only what I had given him freely in the past, but I had changed – I knew now that a man couldn’t have two masters and be whole still.

“Does Geneva know that this happens?” I said, my throat burning. “Perhaps you should call her and talk to her. _She_ is your fiancé, after all.”

 “I…” An hesitation on the line, heavy and meaningful. “You’re right.” He said finally in a hoarse voice – hurt but decided. “I should.”

And the silence extended between us, until it filled the night with its void, leaving me cold and tired beyond my years.


	3. Dresses & Question Marks

**Part III – Dresses & Question Marks**

The weeks went by quickly, as I watched the days pass submerged on a numbed haze. I dove on my work, finding solace on the bleeding vessels that I could repair; on the firm grip of the sternal saw on my fingers - lethal on an unexperienced hand – but a doorway to the pulsing heart that I could hold on my hands and actually cure; on the buzzing of the machines that surrounded me in the OR, as soothing to my troubled soul as a lullaby.

I tried my hardest to avoid Jamie. I had so much to tell him – and yet I feared the unavoidable change that conversation would entail. Since that night on the phone, I had come to a halting conclusion – if Jamie actually married Geneva, I must find a way to sever all ties with him. I couldn’t contaminate him with my misery; couldn’t condemn his marriage to a blustering failure by splitting him in two.

But I still held hope that I could sway things. So on Friday morning, having the day off from work, I allowed myself a double expresso - with no sugar or cream – and raided my closet for something to wear. There’s no rationalizing it, really – I wasn’t going on a date. But if I intended to fight a battle, I needed an armour – I couldn’t feel inferior to Geneva, defeated before I had the chance to brandish my proverbial sword. I settled for high waisted trousers, with an elegant cut, and a white chemise, complemented with black heels – quite unusual for my practical nature.

She had texted me the address the previous night, so I met her in front of the first shop she intended to explore, a pricy and tasteful establishment called _“The Blushing Bride”._ Geneva was wearing a floral blue dress and sunglasses, which - to my profound distaste - made her look like a movie star.

“Claire!” She greeted me with a pleasant smile. “So glad you made it!”

“Yes.” I tried to smile back, but my facial muscles felt stiff. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Geneva patted me on the shoulder, as if she was a pet owner, proud of her small animal’s behaviour.

“Shall we go in?” She theatrically peeked above the rim of her glasses, her grey eyes shining. Seeing me nodding in agreement, she marched to the boutique’s door.

“What do you have in mind?” I asked, almost blinded by the sudden outburst of white, ivory and cream that filled my eyes the moment I stepped inside.

“Well, I wanted to talk to you about the wedding.” She tapped her finger on her lips. “Make sure you’re on board.”

“I was talking about the wedding dress.” I whispered, raising my eyebrows. “Unless you want to go wild and wear a red number or spend the rest of our days inside this store, I think we need to narrow it down a bit.”

“And you?” Geneva asked, her chestnut hair dangling around her shoulders, as she moved to touch on some fabrics. “Did you decide already what you’re wearing? With your voluptuous curves, you need to be somewhat careful.”

I was pretty sure she was trying to imply that my arse was big – but I was very distant from the insecure teenager I might have been while at high school. I was well resolved with the curves of my butt – and happened to know that Jamie found it one of my best traits.

“Not sure yet,” I replied evenly, offering her one relaxed smile. “But I’m thinking _black_.”

“Oh.” She said. If she grasped it for the offense it was intended to be, she said nothing. We moved around the racks of imposing dresses, trading short comments about shapes and colours. “Jamie has been…very… _gentlemanly_ with me.” She said haltingly. I bit the inside of my cheek. “I’m that fortunate, of course. But I was thinking if he ever said anything to you? There’s nothing wrong with him – medically, of course?”

I hummed, silently grateful for not being eating salty snacks this time around. “I think Jamie is just different from other men.” I coughed, fixing my gaze on some shoes, embellished with sequins and ribbons. “He wants to do right by you. I’m sure he’ll give you an unforgettable honeymoon, though.”

I had shared a bed with Jamie through the years, for various reasons – holidays, sleepovers or while I tended him when he was sick. And although we had never ventured on that type of intimacy, I hadn’t failed to notice his arousal when he woke up next to me in bed. I was fairly certain everything _worked_ properly – should he choose to take that step.

Fortunately my assurances seemed to have soothed her anxieties – I couldn’t stomach to know more about their sexual dalliances. Eventually, Geneva decided it was time to start to try on some wedding dresses.

The first gown was pearl pink and had a train that should be reserved to royalty only. The second one had a skirt so big it could fit an entire family of five inside it – if she was planning to live under it, not only be married in it, it could have been a good choice. The third model seemed to belong on the _Moulin Rouge_ – not for being ostentatious or glittery, but because it resembled naughty lingerie.

I was partially amused with Geneva’s choices – but dismay was slowly creeping in. How was it possible that this woman knew so little of the man she was about to be married? How was it possible that Jamie was about to commit himself to this shallow girl, so focused on her desires that she completely overlooked his own?

“I don’t think that’s the one.” I said shortly, trying to contain laughter, as Geneva displayed attempt number four - she actually _had tried_ a red dress. “Perhaps something more classic and simple – let your beauty shine for itself.”

Geneva looked at me through the mirror on the wall, a small smile appearing on her lips. “I know you don’t like me much, Claire. That’s alright – we are _very_ different, you and I. And you had such a _special_ place in Jamie’s life…I really wasn’t expecting it to be any different.” Her chestnut hair was blazing on the artificial lights and for once she seemed solemn and serious, her eyes searching mine on the reflected image. “But I want you to know that I do love him – fiercely. I want him to be happy.”

I inhaled slowly, my hands closing until I could feel my nails digging on my flesh. I returned her gaze and gave her a small nod.

“Good. We want the same thing, then.” I got up from the armchair where I had been surveilling her pageant and walked to a hanger nearby. I searched through an array of dresses, until I found the one. “Here, try this on.”

She was right – I didn’t like her. Not only because she was stealing away Jamie, but also because we were as diametrically different as the sun and the moon. We weren’t really best friend material, either – and for that alone I could participate in ridicule her, watching her choose the worst dress in the entire collection.  But she was a woman in love – and I could relate to that. And she was marrying a man that deserved the absolute best – even if I could ruin her day (and I wasn’t that sure I actually had it in me), I couldn’t take any part in hurting Jamie.  

“It’s perfect. Isn’t it?” She asked moments later, almost breathless. Her eyes were moist with emotion – she seemed vulnerable, not so poised and coquettish, and for a moment I could see the woman Jamie had decided to cherish.

“Yes.” I whispered, my voice hoarse. “My job here is done.”

****

Do you know how time has that magical capacity of changing its pace? How he races when something dreadful approaches and stretches, languid, when your deepest desires are almost within your grasp?

I didn’t know where I had lost the weeks that acted as shields to Jamie’s wedding. One sleepless night here; one long surgery there; a weekend away at Callandar to take my mind of things. Several missed calls from Jamie and even more missed words between us.

One day I woke up and only one week was left; and Jamie had texted me at dawn summoning me to go to the pub that night, hang out with the happy couple and the lads as a kind of stag party.

“Tonight is the night, darling.” I patted Adso and rubbed his ear. “Make the cut and assess the bleeding – find out if it’s catastrophic or if the patient lives to fight another day.”

****

“Ye’re very quiet tonight, Sassenach.” Jamie asked me discretely, while everyone was busy requesting another round. “Are ye concerned for a patient?”

“Yes.” I gratefully used the offered escape. “A serious heart problem, poor thing. Don’t think she’s going to make it.”

“Ah.” His eyes wrinkled with seriousness. “I’m verra sorry to hear that.”

“We changed the honeymoon.” Geneva was chatting with Willie and Angus. “Instead of going to Bermuda, we’re staying at a lovely cottage in Isle of Skye.”

“Aye.” Jamie smiled. “Geneva surprised me. She thought I would like to spend my honeymoon in Scotland and Skye is such a bonny place.”

“Did she?” I babbled, drinking down my whiskey.

“How about yer vows, Jamie lad?” Rupert asked. “Are you finished writing them?”

“Actually,” Geneva interrupted. “I insisted that we used the ancient Gaelic vows. Since we won’t be married at Lallybroch, I want Jamie to have a bit of Scotland with him.”

I snorted so loudly that every face on the booth was turned in my direction.

“What’s going on, Sassenach?” Jamie asked, leaning to whisper on my ear.

“Nothing.” I croaked. “I have something in my nose. Must be some sort of virus.”

“Ye look healthy enough to me.” Jamie grimaced.

“You seem to be missing lots of things.” I replied, dryly. “Obviously.” I mouthed, before I raised my glass again.

“Are ye making me an uncle anytime soon, Jamie?” Willie laughed. “Flora could do with having another bairn to play when we gather.”

“We want plenty of children.” Geneva smiled and looked adoringly at Jamie, squeezing his hand placed on the table. “Jamie always wanted a big family.”

This time my laugh was evident – a sardonic and humourless sound, which sounded cruel even to my ears. Geneva was frowning in my direction and Jamie’s eyes were piercing mine. Angus looked at me with apprehension, before he dexterously grabbed Geneva and dragged her to play some darts.

“Why are you being like this?” Jamie asked when we were left alone, sat together on the booth, as we had been countless times before.

“Like what?” I asked defiantly.

“ _Mallaichte bas_! Like a wee bairn with a bad temper, Claire.” Jamie growled. “Ye’ve been cruel to Geneva tonight, and unrightfully so. She is only trying to please me.”

“She is only saying what you want to hear. And if you think anything different, you’re the fool!” I spat out, my cheeks flushing. I had a whistling sound inside my ears that seemed to throb in rhythm with my heart.

“Are ye jealous?” Jamie said slowly. “Because finally someone knows me other than you?”

“Lake District doll doesn’t know the first thing about you!” I hissed, leaning over the table as a cat about to pounce. “All these things – the honeymoon, the vows, the children – I told her all of that. She is only repeating it, because she was afraid you would realize how this whole marriage is a damned farce. I even chose her fucking wedding dress! I’m the one that knows you, Jamie – not her.”

“And yet I’m marrying her.” Jamie swallowed hard. “Ye said ye would support me and instead you’re entertaining yerself with the wreckage of my life!”

“You bloody bastard!” I sobbed. Tears were burning my eyes, as the dim lights of the pub turned to washing rivers. “I can’t sleep, eat or think and yet – yet you think I’m entertained!”

“If you’re not entertained, then what are ye?” Jamie clenched his jaw, as an invisible dome of anger and frustration surrounded him.

“I think you know.” I began to gather my things – phone, scarf and purse – preparing to leave. “Perhaps you knew all along. That’s why you let yourself enter this scheme of an engagement. That’s why you chose for a fiancé someone that couldn’t really know you or see you.”

“ _Seas_!” Jamie said, his voice low. “Please, Claire. I need ye by my side.”

“No.” I closed my eyes – catastrophic bleeding, then. “I won’t. I’m sorry, but I can’t be your best woman. I can't be at your wedding, Jamie.” I opened my eyes and looked at him, preparing to turn my back on him for what could be the last time. “It’s me you call in the middle of the night. It’s my body you crave for when you come out of sleep. It’s my voice you want to hear first when something happens – to share the burden or the happiness. I’m the one that knows your dreams, nightmares and desires. So what does that mean, Jamie?”

He looked at me with confusion and pain in his blue, daunting, eyes. He opened his lips – _God_ , would I never kiss him there? – but I raised my hand to stop him.

“I think you should do some soul searching, James Fraser. Call me when you realize that you have loved me all along.” And I walked away.

 


	4. Morning Glory

**Part IV – Morning Glory**

I woke up to a small wail that made the strings of my heart resound like a guitar. He was already moving beside me in bed – I could feel his warmth slipping away, my body bent in a mirror shape of his own. I didn’t open my eyes, content with feeling the heart-breaking tenderness of his thumb tracing my earlobe.

“I’ll go.” He whispered in my ear. “Rest some more, _mo nighean donn_.”

I hummed, knowing that he would be back to me. He always did. I could already anticipate his powerful hands, insinuating themselves bellow the hem of my nightgown. I would be instantly aroused by his touch, the smell of morning glory on his skin, highlighted by our daughter’s sleepy scent. It was the smell of love – and I was lucky enough to be bathed in it each dawn.

After a few moments, I listened as he strode across the room again, raising the sheets to lie down next me.

“She’s sound asleep.” He kissed the back of my neck. His voice was husky – unhinged after a night of silence. “Have I told ye today how much I love ye?”

“Hmhm.” I smiled. Jamie was brushing my wild curls away from my shoulders, so he could more easily access the exposed skin of my shoulder. “I believe you haven’t.”

“I love ye.” His hand caressed me and slid to nestle against my breast – possessive, famished, loving. “Yesterday, today and tomorrow. And all the wee hours in between.”

The alarm clock went off and I almost jumped out of bed like a rocket ready for launch. I turned it off, rubbing my eyes to persuade sleep to go away from me – I felt boneless and exhausted after a week of nightshifts and very few hours of sleep. And when I did sleep, I dreamt – vivid images of a lost life, that left me aching and irascible – so much so that I became weary of falling asleep altogether.

I mechanically moved to open the water tap for a shower, turning on the coffee machine on my way. I brushed my teeth and dressed with the precision and discipline of a trained soldier. It was easier that way – to function and appear normal, not allowing my mind to drift to unwanted places. I needed to maintain a routine, to keep going – or I might be doomed to stand still for the rest of my days.

Jamie didn’t marry Geneva - that much I knew. Ian phoned me, the night after our argument at the pub, to let me know Jamie had called off the engagement. I recalled that moment – when I had felt so hopeful and joyful – with anger and frustration. I was, of course, expecting him to drop at my door – but he hadn’t. Instead Jamie had gone home, to Lallybroch, to heal and get away from all the gossiping and harshness – where he still remained to my knowledge. I hadn’t seen him or heard from him in over a month.

I looked at my image in the mirror with detachment. My hair was unruly – but that wasn’t a novelty – and deep dark circles surrounded my eyes. I looked half as tired as I felt. Adso came and sat by my feet, looking at his reflection with mild interest – by then he knew better than to try to tackle that weird cat that moved in front of him. He touched my leg with his paw and meowed in sympathy.

I grabbed my purse, mentally listing the groceries I needed to acquire at the supermarket, and opened my front door.

He was standing there, his eyes downcast, his hands hidden in the pockets of his coat. I noticed his hair was shorter than the last time I had seen him. How long had he been there, summoning courage to knock at a door that used to be always open for him?

Jamie breathed deeply and raised his eyes to meet mine.

“May I come in?” He asked softly.

I honestly thought for a second of closing the door on his face, but something in his tone forced me to be gentler. I nodded and silently feel back and allowed him in.

Adso padded towards us and greeted Jamie in his usual fashion – purring and rubbing himself against Jamie’s legs, begging for his attention and long fingers.

“Must all males in my life be such obnoxious traitors?” I grumbled, throwing Adso a resentful look. “We don’t like him anymore, remember?”

With a mixture of gestures and monosyllables, I invited Jamie to sit on my kitchen table and placed a cup of strong tea in front of him. I sat on the opposite side of the furniture – as removed from him as possible.

We both sipped our tea in silence, playing a game of hide and seek with our eyes.

“This has been lovely.” I finally said, setting down my cup with a tump. “But unless you actually have something to say, I have places to go and things to do. Not all of us can go into hiding and leave our entire lives behind.” I watched as my words hit him, the invisible wound formed underneath his skin – we were fortunate that words didn’t leave bruises, or the both of us would be disfigured.

“Do ye remember…” He started slowly. “After the bombing, when I left the hospital and came here to convalesce?”

“I do.” I replied softly.  I did, of course. I had been covering the ER the day of the attack – sometimes I could still close my eyes and see the image of endless corridors filled with people screaming, blood and tears streaming like rivers of sorrow, my trembling hands continuously stitching and holding people together with small threads of kindness. I was still shaking with tiredness and horror when they called me – from that exact same ER – as mine was his top listed contact.

I had felt like screaming and crying when I saw his back – but I hadn’t. I remembered the strong lines of his back, the grace of bone and muscle, the softness of his skin under my fingers when I occasionally had touched him there. But I had locked away my feelings of loss and surrendered myself to the task of nursing him back to health.

It hadn’t been easy – he was in serious pain, although he tried to hide it under cheerful remarks and crude jokes. He was incredibly weak and depended on another person for every small task – even wiping his own arse. When he had completed the initial skin grafts, I had taken him to my house and continued to nurse him there.

I think, perhaps, that was truly the moment I knew I loved him. There is something terrible and wonderful in seeing someone stripped of every mask of civility; of every notion of propriety or ego.  The man that remained under every one of those layers was still Jamie – and as deserving of my love as the handsome young man that had saved my broken heart in a pub.

“Sometimes I would come awake from the pain.” He proceeded, searching my eyes. “It was unbearable. It tainted my dreams and I thought I’d go mad from it. But then I saw yer face, lying next to me, half smiling in your sleep…” Jamie gulped. “So serene and beautiful. It soothed me enough for me to bear it another day.”

“Why did you decide not to marry Geneva?” I asked, fighting against the tears that had formed in my eyes at his words.

“Ye were right.” He smiled, a sad smirk that made me well up even more. “She wasna right for me – or I for her, for that matter. Marrying her would be deceiving us both.”

“So, you realized that you weren’t meant to be.” I stood up and placed my empty cup in the sink, bracing it for support. “Is that it?”

“Not all of it.” He whispered, moving his shoulders against the fabric of his jumper. “I’m in love with ye, Claire – have been, from the moment we talked in the pub five years ago. Maybe even longer, when I first saw ye there, so unware of how remarkable ye are.”

“And yet you needed me to tell you that.” I bit my lip, turning my head to face him. “You were about to marry another woman!”

“Aye.” He said, his voice coming out stronger. Firm. Decided. “I had lost all hope that you’d ever be mine. So I accepted this small thing, a pale shadow perhaps, thinking that it might be best for the both of us. Do ye know what is to live each day so close to the person ye love, yet not being able to touch her or hold her, having to pretend ye feel nothing? Having to talk and smile when inside yer head ye’re screaming so loud ye can barely think?”

“Yes!” I exclaimed. “I bloody well do know, James Fraser!”

“Aye?” He raised and grabbed my arms, his hands hot enough to sear my skin. “And why did you tell me all those things in the pub, Claire?”

“Because I wanted you.” I whispered, letting him see on the glass of my face how honest I was. “More than I ever wanted anything in my life.” He had never been good at hiding his emotions from me – his face changed, like deep dark waters lighted by a moonlight beam.

“But ye only realized that when I told ye I was engaged?” He licked his full bottom lip. “Are ye no confusing the fear of losing me with really wanting me?”

“No.” I asserted. “I was just blind before – so afraid things would change. But I’ve always _known_.”

He nodded and smiled tenderly, his palm coming up to touch my face, tracing me from brow to chin with moving lightness.

“I’m sorry I dinna come sooner, _mo nighean donn_.” He slowly leaned over and rested his forehead against mine, so close I could feel the warmth of his breath, the smell of earl grey tea and the slight tremors that coursed through his body. “But I was so ashamed. I dinna ken how to tell ye that I’ve been such a fool. How to amend for making such a mess of things.”

“I was so angry at you.” I was shaking too, from relief and strong emotion. “I thought you had left me.”

“I could never leave ye, _mo ghraidh_.” His finger caught a curl and entwined it on my hair, keeping me close to him. “No man can live long without his heart.”

He tilted his head – a movement so imperceptible that no one but me would have noticed – and I knew he was searching for a way to meet me. My hands travelled to his short, but still softly wavy, auburn hair and nestled there. I already knew the ways of his heart – and was confident that it would take me a very short time to be as knowing of the mechanisms of his body, so complicit with mine.  

We kissed then, passionately, with a desire and longing that had been five years in the making. There are plenty of beautiful descriptions of a kiss in literature – the feelings, the slow burning dance, the fight that comes from the will to surrender – but they would never be enough. Not to describe what it is to be kissed by Jamie. Not to portray what it is to be made anew.

****

“ _Calman geal_.” Jamie whispered, brushing my hair away from my face. We were lying down on my bed, bared, facing each other. I had spent the last few hours busy with the pleasant job of discovering his beautifully made body. I felt a sore happiness in every limb, as if my arms and legs could open up and laugh from joyfulness.

“That one is new.” I kissed the sensitive skin inside his forearm. “What does it mean?”

“White dove.” He smiled, as his hand fondled my waist, quickly making its way to the curve of my bottom. I was right – he _did_ like it quite a lot. “I never knew a woman could be as beautiful as you, my own.”

“Hm.” I hummed, satisfied. “I’ll accept that - even if I still think you were actually calling me something funny.”

“Ah.” He laughed. “Perhaps tomorrow we can have a proper first date? I’ll take ye out to dinner somewhere nice.”

“I think we have exhausted every possible first date and conversation a long time ago.” I bit him on the chest, close to his nipple. “This seems like a perfect date for us, if you ask me.”

“I bet there are still things ye don’t know about me, tough.” He kissed me thoroughly on the lips. “We could talk about those. Maybe dance a little afterwards - put those waltz steps to good use.”

“Is this a challenge, James Fraser?” I blow away a curl. “I thought I’d spent the last hour showing you how much I _do_ know you.”

“So ye did.” He rolled on his back, pulling me to straddle him. “But I want ye to have everything ye deserve, Claire. I want to go out and shout to the world that ye’re mine now, as I am yours. I want to do those silly things, like holding your hand in the darkness of the cinema and send ye flowers. I want ye to be surprised when I steal a kiss from ye and find every new way to love ye. We lived a lot together, already – but it ain’t enough. It will never be enough, Sassenach.”

“Please do, Jamie.” I winked and rolled my hips, taunting him. “Or I might just riot.”

  ** _The End_**


End file.
